


do you feel like a young god?

by Anonymous



Series: the state of dreaming [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Superpowers, Unreliable Narrator, in this part it's linear but for the sake of future reference consider it non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Do you know the constellation of Gemini? Two souls of the same star, tied by Heaven’s will, and you, piteous young god, you will love them both.





	do you feel like a young god?

_ Do you see anything? _

A flash. 

It is blinding and brilliant, and it burns Donghyuck’s eyes with white light, singing of stars—burning hearts of hydrogen and helium, like the shit that fills birthday balloons and makes Jisung’s voice high pitched and annoying. To burn so brilliantly—to breathe in the black void and to die ever so slowly. Donghyuck wonders what it feels like—maybe it’s like TV static, or falling asleep, something like both. Like Jaemin placing his cold fingertips on Donghyuck’s wrist and seeing into his mind. Donghyuck should say sorry to Jaemin after all of this is said and done. If Donghyuck had a choice, he probably wouldn’t choose to look into his own mind. What good could come out of that? It’s as good as looking into the eye of the hurricane and asking it what made it so fond of chaos. 

It’s so cold that it almost burns. 

Maybe it feels like that—soaked clothes and white tiles, something like an open window forgotten, the night air slipping through the silk curtains like smoke, goosebumps rising along his skin and the hair at the back of Donghyuck’s nape standing on end—tense, suddenly self-conscious and too aware of the time passing, like someone is staring. 

Jaemin’s hand circles his wrist.

Donghyuck holds his breath. 

The most massive stars, the ones that shine the most beautifully, die first. 

Donghyuck wonders what it sounds like. Does it sound something like crashing waves and rolling tides? Like gulls and the bumble of the fish market in the morning. The shore. That’s what the towns by the sea sound like. Maybe it sounds like the city—something like the incessant hum of the factories, the big abandoned buildings that no one really remembers _ not _being abandoned, and the far off moan of an engine, a motorcycle ripping down the highway and the droning of an airplane taking off. Donghyuck doesn’t know what he would rather listen to. He likes both, after all. But there is something about silence, something about stillness, a strain of quiet that is less like peace and more like the calm before the storm, that makes Donghyuck feel a little sick. Donghyuck doesn’t really like the silence, the quiet, not like he likes the sound of the sea or the sound of a city that never sleeps. 

Silence makes him feel like he’s lost. Like he’s alone.

Donghyuck’s head is filled with static. 

It’s cold. 

A star burns its brightest. It is something like a supernova, yellows and pinks and purples and blues, and it all has to be a dream, but it’s something about an explosion and the last stage of evolution, and it is catastrophic. 

Have you ever wished upon a dying star? 

All of them are dying, dear. 

It is the most brilliant thing in the universe, the supernova—in the universe of the universe, too. It only lasts a moment, a second at most, maybe two, maybe more, maybe less. It’s something that is born to die. All beautiful things are, aren’t they? It’s a shame. 

Donghyuck’s eyes burn. All of him burns, but it’s so cold, and it feels like hellfire, and Donghyuck thinks he’s screaming. Donghyuck doesn’t think he actually makes a sound though, not one that he can hear, not one that he can hear in this—this in-between, this state that is neither here nor there. 

And for a moment, just a moment, Donghyuck comes back, and he really screams this time, shaking hands splashing water helplessly and blue lips breathing in a gasp. 

The room spins, pristine white tiles no longer lined up perfectly but melting into each other. In the window above, thunder rolls in and lightning splits the sky in two, electric blue against stormy gray. 

Is Renjun okay?

Something must have upset him. 

Strong hands hold him down, and Donghyuck feels too cold to fight back. 

Donghyuck goes back under. 

_ Your mind is wandering, Donghyuck. You have to focus. _

Donghyuck’s hands slip from the edge of the bathtub.

It’s more bearable this time. It’s not too dark. Not pitch black, not like ink or obsidian, just a normal kind of black, like the color you see when you close your eyes or look at the ceiling at night. It sounds like an echo. Donghyuck looks around, but he’s alone again, and the black goes on for miles in all directions. 

“Hello?” Donghyuck calls out, but only his own voice answers him, echoing into the void. Water drips. It sounds a little like rain, but more like a sink not completely off. It’s coming from him, Donghyuck thinks, from the water dripping from his clothes and his fingertips and his hair. Donghyuck likes the rain, but this sound—this _ drip, drip, drip _, it makes him feel like he’s slowly losing it, losing himself the longer he looks into the void and nothing looks back. 

Donghyuck closes his eyes and backs away—away from this _ nothingness _ . “Jaemin?” Donghyuck mumbles, whispers, wringing his hands and willing himself to stop listening to the incessant _ drip, drip, drip. _“Jaemin, I don’t like this.”

_ You have to cave, Donghyuck. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight me. _

And Donghyuck almost cries, eyes stinging and his throat growing tight, really, he thinks he really might fall into a little ball and cry his heart out because he’s _ afraid _ . Donghyuck isn’t afraid of many things, honest, he’s not, but this time, he really feels it, and he’s so _ cold _.

But Donghyuck feels so tired, hands falling to his sides, and Donghyuck holds his breath as the light fades from his fingertips—has he been fighting it? Donghyuck wasn’t trying to fight, to fight _ Jaemin. _ Really, he was just so afraid, and it’s what he does when he’s afraid. He _ fights. _ But Donghyuck is so tired and he can’t fight anymore.

Focus_ . _

Donghyuck feels like he’s falling.

And something happens.

Donghyuck doesn’t really remember what happens in the in-between, it’s all so bright, and it blinds him, and it’s all so hazy, like Donghyuck is sleeping and dreaming a dream that isn’t _ his _ , but he _ knows. _

The cloth falls from Donghyuck’s eyes.

Donghyuck’s head is pounding.

Jaemin’s hold on his wrist is bruising, but it doesn’t hurt, not really, Donghyuck can’t feel it, but a warm hand comes from his right to slowly pry it off of Donghyuck’s cold skin. 

Jisung? 

Donghyuck blinks slowly, bleary, eyes still just a little out of focus, but he can see the wetness staining Jisung’s cheeks and how his nose looks a little red. The kid was there the whole time, wasn’t he? Donghyuck holds a hand up to his cheek and pats him softly, as gently and soothingly as he can, but he’s so tired, and his hand falls back under the water after a moment. 

Donghyuck turns back to Jaemin, leaning his head back on the tiles, and his heart aches just a little in his chest, just enough to make Donghyuck feel it. Jaemin looks as cold as Donghyuck feels, lips pressed into a line and hands shaking in his lap, back pressed against the bathroom wall. Desperation rains hard in Jaemin’s dark eyes, and he looks so much more jaded out from under the harsh white lights of the lab—they make him look like he’s made of porcelain, beautiful in its delicacy, and razor sharp around the edges, white and blonde and a hundred shades of off-white, colored just in the slightest—just enough to remind Donghyuck that Jaemin is human—purple half moons under his eyes and pink rose petals on his lips. 

Jaemin closes his eyes, running a shaky hand down his face, and Donghyuck knows Jaemin is more tired than he is, really, but Jaemin is like that—he doesn’t like to ask for anything, not if he thinks he can take care of it himself. He’s like that. He’s always been like that. Jeno was the one who always made sure Jaemin got what he needed—what he didn’t ask for, but needed. 

But Jeno’s not here, is he? And they both know that Donghyuck couldn’t fill the space. It wasn’t his space to fill. 

Renjun has started to drain the water from the bathtub, and Chenle holds a towel and dry clothes in his hands.

“I found him.” Donghyuck breathes. “I know where he is.” 

Jaemin smiles. 

Donghyuck still feels so cold. 

Donghyuck closes his eyes, and he thinks that maybe he falls asleep—maybe he’s back in the bathtub filled with ice, maybe he didn’t really wake up, after all, but Donghyuck sees Jeno again. And this time, Jeno says something to him. 

“Two out of three.” Jeno says, but it’s not his voice. “That’s the prophecy, Donghyuck. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. 

He hasn’t forgotten. 

_ Two out of three. A young god born on the sixth day of the sixth month. Do you know the constellation of Gemini? Two souls of the same star, tied by Heaven’s will, and _ you _ , piteous young god, you will love them both. _

The Seer smiles, but her eyes look sad, jaded, and Donghyuck knows she’s seen the end. 

_ And it is a fate as old as time. At the fall of the sixth star, one will die before your eyes. That is your fate, young god. Two out of three. _

Donghyuck awakens with a scream. 


End file.
